


Hidden Path

by shenko464



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Angst, Curse Breaking, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22552297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shenko464/pseuds/shenko464
Summary: Destiny is a fickle lady but she never forgets those who follow her path, for good or ill.Geralt, her favorite player, realizes that Yennefer is not the one his heart yearns for. However, a strange curse overcomes him and it requires a fellow Witcher to break it.
Relationships: Dettlaff van der Eretein/Emiel Regis Rohellec Terzieff-Godefroy, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Vernon Roche, Lambert/Keira Metz
Comments: 11
Kudos: 58





	1. Geralt I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the sake of clarity and avoid frustration on both the reader and author (me), this strictly follows the events of the games. While this story may draw on the elements of the Witcher lore first began in the books, it will diverge at some points from the books’ events and intentions.
> 
> With that out of the way, enjoy Geralt’s new adventures into first time confessions, curse-breaking, and what it means to be a part of someone else’s life without obligations or djinns.

#### 1 week after being released from Toussaint’s prison 

Ciri’s visit to his home, which was so graciously kept out of the angry Duchess Anna Henrietta’s warpath, warmed the witcher on the inside. 

Dandelion’s rescue, with his way with words and women, resulted in him being released from prison and keeping his head. The bruises and welts from sleeping on hard stone and in the dark were constant reminders of how close he’d brushed with death. The sightings of the execution lopping off heads as easily as if the axe man was chopping carrots made him uncertain about his own future, a feeling he’d rather not experience again.

Facing death from a monster was far different from the helplessness of your own execution. At least he had a choice in how he would die. Geralt would rather have faced Detlaffe in combat than being imprisoned in the lovely state of Toussaint.

“Wine and Monsters,” Geralt muttered in a low voice.

“What’s that, sire? You request something?”

Barnabas-Basil Foulty, “B.B.” for short, stepped forward out of the shadows, attired in a long-sleeved undershirt covered by an olive-green vest with simple trimmings in a state of impeccable cleanliness.

“I’m fine, BB. Thank you.”

“As you wish, master.”

“Please don’t call me that, BB.”

How his majordomo always manages to keep his clothes clean, no matter the day, was beyond Geralt but the witcher knew he was blessed with B.B’s talent of keeping his vineyard operating smoothly and largely without Geralt’s help.

It was tempting, to say the least, to stay here in Corvo Bianco forever.

Toussaint, as a vassal state to Nilfgaard, hadn’t truly undergone the horrors of war and strife, unlike the northern kingdoms. Ravaged by disease and famine, the common folk were the ones who suffered the most and, while it did help bring in more coin, Geralt felt sorry for not being able to help more with the basic needs such as providing protection from the more banal aspects of being conquered.

The vineyards bloomed with the season. The smell of fresh grapes was an aroma that Geralt cherished in. So different from the blood and gore.

A fresh breeze drifted through the cracks of closed doors and windows, bringing with it the familiar scent of cool spring waters and berries. Not gooseberries and lilacs, a smell that used to arouse him.

Then the door gently swung open and there, in all her loveliness, stood Ciri, clad in light chainmail armor covered with royal purple pauldrons. The high quality, no doubt afforded by her Emperor father, made his surrogate daughter even more beautiful.

The light scar that ran down from her forehead to the bottom of her right cheek merely enhanced her beauty and any man would be found wanting her.

“Geralt! A messenger gave this to me. It doesn’t say who it’s from but I’m sure you can figure out the writing at least.”

The ashen-haired lady pressed the letter onto the table where Geralt currently sat at.  
A candle flickered nearby and Geralt’s fingers snapped, reigniting another candle nearby to bring in more light into the dining area.

“Well,” Ciri said, almost impatiently. “What does it say?”

Why was Ciri pushing so aggressively? Is she hoping for an adventure, perhaps tired of being lulled into complacency after a few days’ stay at his home?

“Huh,” Geralt couldn’t believe his eyes. He had to read it several times to ensure he got it right.

The barely legible scrawl could only belong to one person and that person was supposed to in Temeria right now.

“It’s from Roche,” Geralt’s heart missed a beat though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Sure, the last time they saw each other was after helping defend the Temerian patriots from Dijkstra’s betrayal. An act that still befuddled Geralt’s mind. The late spy was always so careful and thoughtful in his actions. The question of why the former Redanian spy would blatantly ask Geralt to leave his friends to their ignominious fate still plagued Geralt to this day.  
“Geralt. Stop thinking so much. You’ve been doing that ever since I arrived.”

The cute frown on Ciri’s face made him chuckle and he smiled at her, while reading the letter aloud.

“It says, ‘everything’s settled. Come to Vizima, wolf. We have a lot of catching up to do, especially from your end with the vineyard. See you in a few weeks.”

The letter wasn’t signed but Geralt could say with absolute certainty that it was from Roche. No one else calls him Wolf, a moniker that’s more welcomed than the others he’d known.

“Wait, how does Roche know about the vineyard?”

Ciri’s question was a good one for she didn’t remember that Roche was the Commander of the Blue Stripes, Temeria’s special forces. Their speciality? Finding and stamping out dissent against Temeria, in any way necessary.

“Roche is in intelligence. You don’t recall me telling you about him at Kaer Mohen?”

A pensive look overcame her pretty features and she crossed her arms underneath her bosom.

“Hmm…I do remember seeing him and that blonde lady. Ves? I’m surprised he actually showed up.”

“What do you mean?” Everyone else had showed up, including Hjalmar and Letho.

“Well, the only reward that possibly awaited them would be either death or your gratefulness, which you’re not good at showing sometimes.”

Geralt felt a little insulted at that.

“You’re lucky I know you so well, Geralt. Like when you clench your jaw just now.” Light laughter echoed in the room, bringing with it much needed levity now.

“He showed up. He survived and I paid him back by not abandoning him.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Though it’s strange as to why Dijkstra would behave like that. Wouldn’t a spy be more cautious?”

She let her sentence trail off and Geralt thought she had finished speaking when she clasped her hands together in excitement.

“Let’s go, Geralt! I need adventure, not learning about Toussaint and how it serves its place in Nilfgaard. I’m sure, as Empress, I will learn it, one way or another. Besides, isn’t that where you saved Adda?”

Geralt sighed and unconsciously rubbed his throat, as if still in pain by the slash the Strigga had gifted him as a ‘thank-you’ after their fight.

“Please don’t remind me Ciri…” his voice was hoarse, though whether it’s from regret or phantom pain, Geralt couldn’t tell.

“If we leave now,” Ciri continued and she went outside, with Geralt following in tow. “We can get there instantly.”

Amber eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Roach and Ciri’s black horse prepped with fresh saddlebags and brushed down coats.

“I prefer horseback, thank you.” Geralt hated teleportation with a passion. It always made him nauseous, as if he was pulled apart, molecule by molecule, before being assembled again. It was worse than being whipped and cut into in Roche’s dungeon.

“That’s what I thought too,” Ciri laughed and Geralt smiled at the way his daughter’s eyes sparkled with life, the scar seeming to grow smaller and almost nonexistent.

“It’ll take a few weeks at the least. Hopefully less now that the spring is here.”

“Roche did say ‘see you in a few weeks’.” Geralt swung his leg over the saddle and the witcher whistled for BB, who immediately appeared at his side. _Gods, was the man a ghost or something?_

He almost didn’t hear BB approach him.

“Safe travels on your journey, master witcher.” BB bowed before him.

“I might be away for a while. Maybe a few months. You got a handle on things here?”

“Of course, sir. With your vampire friend, Regis, nearby, we’ll be right as rain.”

Regis. Maybe he should tell him himself that he’ll be away for a while.

A bird chirped nearby and Geralt’s eyes espied a lone raven sitting on one of the lower branches. It looked directly at him, its fathomless black eyes descrying the witcher and the ashen-haired rider beside him.

“Go tell Regis that I’ll be in Vizima for a bit. I’ll keep you updated. Just keep Detlaffe out of trouble. I don’t want another contract on his life again.”

The bird made a ‘caw!’ sound and took flight, its body flying in an easterly direction.

“Here’s to a few weeks in the saddle,” Geralt grumbled. He was not looking forward to being on the road again but seeing a dear old friend was worth it. The image of the Temerian Commander pulled at his heart, the same way it used for a certain dark-haired sorceress, but Geralt merely shook it off. Yennefer’s love was forced by his wish and Geralt just needed time to himself. After all, it was just catching-up that Roche wanted. Nothing more, even if the man’s heart beat a little faster during some moments in their past interactions. Even with the way he said ‘wolf,’ all husky and deep like a lover.

“There’s always another option,” Ciri smiled cheerfully, knowing full well how Geralt would respond.

A scowl and then a mutter of “no way in the nine hells.”


	2. Had My Fill of Politics

It was with great relief that Vizima, the capital of Temeria, finally appeared on the horizon. The rising sun bequeathed the stone buildings in the afterglow of a warm spring morning.  


Roach and Swallow nickered a little patiently, as if sensing that they were finally reaching a resting place filled with hay and fresh grooming.

“I’ll race you to the Merchant Gate. Last one buys the drinks!” Ciri smirked at Geralt and, before he could protest, had disappeared into the distance. Laughter trailed behind her and Geralt shook his head at his daughter’s antics. Some things will never change.

“C’me on Roach!” Geralt firmly thumped her flanks and he crouched low, giving himself a more aerodynamic structure and allowing Roach to gallop after Ciri with as little air resistance as possible.

The familiar view of Vizima came into full view now, with the long bridge filled with citizens traveling between the front gate and the surrounding area.

It had been several months since the war ended, according to Dandelion at least.

“While you almost wasted away in the prison, a lot of events took place. You’d be pleased to hear that Temeria was able to keep its identity and that Roche and company are alive and well.”

“How’d you hear about that? That information seems like it would fetch a high price.”

“Oh Geralt. You’d be surprised at how news goes around in brothels and taverns. The best kept secret is a dead one. You should know that by now.”

However, Geralt was rather surprised that Nilfgaard’s colors no longer flew in the capital, not blatantly. Instead, the flags of the silver lilies on a blue background whipped about in the strong winds. Guards dressed in Temerian armor patrolled the Merchant Gate and the cheerful disposition of the citizens clearly indicated that Emperor Emhyr had kept his promise to Roche and company. 

That Temeria would become a vassal state, with its own courts and militia. All they had to do was be willing to be called upon to defend its borders from Nilfgaard’s enemies.

A trade that Temeria took too willingly perhaps, at the expense of its northern partners, Aedirn and Lyria.

Geralt had no illusions on what Nilfgaard does to occupied territories and slavery disgusts him to this day. However, he doesn’t regret facing against Dijkastra, even to this day. He just hoped the political ramifications weren’t too much for him to handle. He didn’t need another adventure like the Law of Surprise at Cintra.

Guards greeted them at the gate and one of them, a young man with fair blue eyes and blonde hair, almost squeaked out his introduction at the sight of Ciri.

“Your grace!” He immediately bowed before her, so low that his face almost ate the cobblestone.

“Is this what it’s going to be like every time we travel to a major city here?” Geralt’s wry comment was met with Ciri’s shrug. “Wouldn’t mind having a hot bath and breakfast in bed every day.”

“Ha! You might get tired of that after a few days of constantly being bothered by courtesans and butlers.”

_Hmm too true._

“I wonder if General Voorhis is still here,” Ciri said, walking closer to the inner sanctum of the Royal Palace.

“That guy? Why? I thought you didn’t like him?”

“I still don’t, but he can be-“

And there stood the General, standing in a relaxed manner, a soft smile etched on that proud face. Low eyebrows and high cheekbone gave his visage a somewhat noble look to him.

“Ah! My lady, there you are! I’ve your stables ready for both Swallow and Roach.”

At his behest, two orderlies quickly took the horses’ reins and, after Ciri and Geralt dismounted, led them to the royal stables where the other horses stayed and were taken care of.

“Charming,” Geralt finished her sentence and Ciri scowled at him while Voorhis merely looked puzzled at the pair of them.

“It’s good that you’ve arrived, milady. Many things afoot here in Vizima.”

The General led them through the inner sanctum of the royal palace and Geralt couldn’t help but notice the presence of both Nilfgaard and Temerian nobles, one side eying at the other side with tension. It was so sharp and heavy that the witcher wondered how long it would take for either side to find an excuse to throw the first punch.

He hadn’t seen Roche or even any of his men here and that worried him a bit.

“You’d be happy to note that Emperor Emhyr has graciously allowed Anais to rule Temeria, as a Duchess though not without protests.”

That news brought Geralt to a halt. How did Emhyr even find Anais in all the commotion? Last thing he heard about the young girl was her being in John Natalis’ custody and that was before he disappeared in the first skirmish at the Dol Blathanna line.

Geralt wanted to inquire about Roche but wisely kept that concern to himself. While General Voorhis appeared to be ‘charming’ to Ciri, Geralt didn’t really know the General, other than the man was a horse expert and he accepted defeat with great humility. Geralt still had that saddle the General gifted him six months ago.

The two visitors were finally led to the antechamber where a group of nobles had gathered around a throne.

There sat the little girl, though Geralt would have a hard time recognizing her now.  
Gone was the demure little blonde girl who used to peer at the ground instead of the people around her. Now, a young fierce looking lady sat in the small throne; standing beside her were two men, one of whom that Geralt thought he would never see again.

John Natalis, who looked quite healthy despite having disappeared in the Dol Blathanna skirmish, stood proudly at the young girl’s side. And Geralt felt his heart lighten when amber eyes caught sight of that familiar lithe figure standing opposite to John. That ridiculous chaperone made Roche seem a foot taller than his superior but it still looked dashing on the Temerian. Ever the professional, the Temerian Commander acknowledged him with a slight nod but Geralt heard his heart beat faster than normal, a sure sign of either relief or panic at his presence.

“Ah ‘tis Geralt!” Anais’ voice, light and airy, immediately calmed the nobles who clamored angrily for her attention.

“Well, seems she still remembers you,” Ciri looked pleased with herself though Geralt had no idea why. All he did was rescue her from Dethmold’s cruel prison and convinced Roche to place her in John Natalis’ care.

“Geralt, please come forth and you too, your grace.”

Both Geralt and Ciri glanced at each other, wondering why Anais had called upon them. They walked to the front of the throne and Geralt gave an awkward bow, trying to mind his manners in front of the other nobles. His presence already rankled half of the nobles. Better not give them any more ammunition with his poor etiquette.

Ciri bowed to her as well, even though the young lady was clearly above Anais’ station as the future Empress of Nilfgaard.

“Please, Geralt, accept my thanks in your efforts of rescuing me and in cementing Temeria as a vassal state. An honor that Emperor Emhyr has allowed me to give to you.”

She motioned to John Natalis to step down and give the witcher his reward.

“Ten thousand orens and a personal guest suite at the Royal Palace, free for you to use at any time between your arduous contracts.”

Geralt felt the weight of the coin bag fall gentle into his open hands and he bowed in deference to Anais.

“Thank you, milady,” was all Geralt could say really. Words in front of nobles didn’t come easy to him, at least not as easily as Ciri or Yennefer.

“Now, I’ve a personal matter to discuss with you two but that is for later. Roche, I trust you can show Geralt to his room?”

“Of course, milady,” Roche bowed to her before he gestured to Geralt to follow him out.

As the two men exited out of the main throne room, Geralt couldn’t help but feel as if he had a target on his back. Hairs rose on the back of his neck and instinct told him that this was not a normal summons. Something was afoot here.


	3. Catching Up and Falling Down

As soon as the main throne room was out of sight and the two men drew further away from prying eyes and ears, Vernon stopped in the hallway and abruptly turned left, into a rather large suite that had shelves of books, a bed and, most importantly, an elegant looking tub.

“You’ve more luck than you deserve, Geralt.” Roche’s voice, gruff as usual, echoed in the empty room, with only a single candle providing the room’s only light.

“Huh, good to see you too, Roche,” Geralt walked into the room after the man, whistling in appreciation at how big the guest suite was. It was twice as large as the room in Kaer Morhen and Geralt could feel the fine grain in the wooden shelves and table.

The smell of mahogany and cherry wood tickled his nose and the witcher hummed out in appreciation at receiving such a luxurious space from Anais.

“So,” Geralt said and he sat at the small table, his pale face in sharp contrast with the shadows that played along the darker side of the room.

Vernon never had the time to be a patron of the arts but even he had to appreciate the unearthly appearance of the witcher, with those golden cat-eyes shining brightly in the dark and the light-colored skin that perfectly matched the white hair. Of course, this wasn’t the only time he stared far longer than was appropriate at the witcher and Vernon unconsciously swallowed a bit at remembering the other times his gaze lingered too long  
.  
The dungeon where the witcher had hung off the ceiling. It was the first time Vernon ever saw the other man half-naked and he attributed the longing in his loins to be from admiring the strong will of the witcher, not at how scars littered his body in a sensual way, at how soft his belly must feel under a gloved hand.

The sadistic side of Vernon relished in how Geralt perked up in his chair upon his arrival, his hands bound behind his back. But the sadist part was slowly and irrevocably tamed by his growing friendship with the witcher until finally, at the climax of their journeys together, only soft affection remained in Vernon’s heart whenever it concerned Geralt. An affection that Vernon did his best to repress in public.

The Temerian really was only supposed to show Geralt his room and leave him to prepare for a private conference with Anais once the nobles leave. However, those golden eyes compelled him to stay. He trusted the witcher to not put him in thrall. After all, they were old friends, their bond forged in blood and revenge.

“A toast to old friendships?” Vernon made a motion with his head and Geralt saw movement in one of the corners by the bookshelves. A figure moved in the shadows and Geralt let out a small chuckle at the sight of Ves in her partially open white top and pants. She smiled at the two of them and promptly left the room, leaving the two men to the privacy of their companionship.

“Yeah, sure. Feels like it was just yesterday that you let me out of those dungeons.”

Vernon saw the slight grimace on Geralt’s face and he speculated that Geralt recalled everything that occurred in that dank prison. The whippings, the screams of other prisoners who underwent their own torture sessions. With the witcher’s supernatural senses, Vernon wasn’t surprised that Geralt could feel and hear everything. Maybe that was more torturous than the physical beatings from the guards.

“While I’m sure you can probably smell who’s been here last, your sense of time is still skewed as ever.”

“Says the Blue-blooded Prince of Temeria,” Geralt’s snarky comment made Vernon shake his head.

“You’re never going to stop calling me that, are you?” 

“Well, it’s true,” Geralt’s eyes pulled away from his and Vernon wondered why. Geralt never had trouble keeping eye contact with him before. In fact, the steady gaze usually would make him want to tear away, fearful that Geralt may read his filthy thoughts centered around him.  
He placed his hand on top of the witcher’s, cool palm pressing against Geralt’s warm one.

“Geralt, I-“

A heavy pause and Geralt’s eyes snapped back at his.

“I just want to say thank you for all you’ve done for Temeria,” he swallowed the words of ‘for me’ because he wasn’t sure how Geralt would react to such a thing.

His heart fluttered for a few seconds when Geralt’s lips tugged into a light smile before the witcher grasped Vernon’s tightly.

The sound of the door gently opening and Ves coming in with glasses and Temeria rye made Vernon withdraw his hand quickly, to both of their disappointment.

If Ves had seen his furtive movement, she didn’t say anything except, “easy on the booze, boys. Duchess Anais still needs you two to have level-heads tonight.”

“Don’t have to tell me, Ves.” Geralt smirked at her. “I’ve got a high tolerance for alcohol, unlike Roche here.”

It was a good thing Roche had swallowed his shot; otherwise, it would have shown up all over Geralt’s smug face.

“Says the witcher who got his arse beat by me in a fistfight.”

“Ouch. That’s a low blow there, Vernon.”

“Ha! Drink up, wolf. To good times and to Temeria!”

All three of them quickly downed their drinks. The fiery liquid sent a delicious warmth all throughout his body, pushing away the severe coldness of the stone walls.

“So mind catching me up on the details,” Geralt finally said. “And how you knew about my little vineyard.”

Vernon made a wounded face. 

“C’me on Geralt. Give me some credit here. My specialty of mine is-  


“Finding people, yeah I get it. Still doesn’t explain what’s going on here though. Some nobles don’t seem to like having Anais on the throne here.”

“Hmm. Ves, we need a moment alone.”

Ves nodded and she got up, her crossbow swinging gently behind her as she exited out of the room. “I’ll be outside if you need anything, Roche.” 

Vernon waited till the door shut, the lock clicking into place, before standing up, his whole figure suddenly tense and coiled tightly, the way a viper would act before striking.

“As always, you never fail to pick up subtle changes. Sometimes I forget how quickly you can figure things out.”

“Hmm mmm. Not sure if I should take that as an insult or compliment.”

Geralt’s rough voice caused a bolt of arousal to rush through him but Vernon squashed it. However, he wasn’t quick enough for Geralt’s eyes narrowed slightly and he too rose from his seat only to stand so close to Vernon’s body.

Vernon felt like the proverbial prey caught by a predator and he began to back up, only to find himself leaning against one of the bookshelves.

“Geralt…” he breathed out the witcher’s name, whether out of benediction or a warning for the other man to back up, and his fists clenched at his side.

_Gods…these thoughts…_

“Are you all right, Vernon? You seem a bit peaked.”

“Yes, I’m just worried about Her Grace, that’s all.” How he managed to say that without wilting underneath the piercing gaze of the wither was beyond Vernon. 

“Don’t lie to me, Vernon,” came a husky warning and Geralt leaned in. An image of a white wolf coming to bite at him came unbidden to Vernon and a small moan escaped him when he realized that he wouldn’t mind if it was Geralt.

Those slitted eyes shone brightly at him and Vernon could feel the heat emanating from the man. The witcher was like a furnace, smoldering hot and steadily in his life.

“Your heart’s racing, as if you’re running a marathon. Your muscles are so tightly wound up that you’re going to end up breaking in the end. There’s something you need to tell me and don’t say it’s about Anais.”

“Part of the reason why Anais summoned you here is because of me,”

“And?”

“And what?”

Geralt sighed and he pulled away from Vernon, the warmth immediately being missed by the latter. 

“Look, Vernon,” The witcher gave him some space by standing further away and he crossed his arms together, dark brows furrowed in what seemed to be a look of disappointment.

“I’ve been alive for almost a century now. I’ve seen more monsters than I can count on. People have used me, lied to me, even killed me once. But you, you’ve never lied to me. So why start now?”

“It’s not right,” Vernon whispered, more to himself than to Geralt. “But it’s something that’s been hounding me since we last saw each other.”

His tone was soft and lacked the bitterness that usually belied his responses to anyone. 

Geralt must have picked up on the soft nuance for he uncrossed his arms and stood a little closer to Vernon. 

“Something’s troubling you? What is it?” Geralt’s breath was hot and those lips looked sinful as if begging to be kissed. Sharp eyes gazed at him, almost as if they were pulling him into the dark depths of the man’s soul, resilient and so full of life, despite the hardships thrown at the witcher. 

“That you’re always on my mind,” Vernon murmured and he let out a shaky breath when Geralt’s gloved hand landed on his shoulder. His touch was light, so out of contrast with the way Geralt handled himself in battle – strong and powerful.

“You know, Vernon,” Geralt whispered to him and the witcher’s face was too terribly close. Any closer and two of them would be sharing each other’s breaths. “For all your skills in intelligence, you can be downright slow sometimes.”

Vernon’s upcoming snarky comment of how witchers were idiotic buffoons and should slay monsters instead of being in court was swallowed by the soft placement of lips over his. The chasteness shocked him and he stiffened, unsure of his next actions for once. 

“Shit…” Geralt cursed and the witcher took a step back. He didn’t go far for Vernon’s arm shot out and grabbed him around the neck, pulling him close. 

“Fuck,” Vernon’s voice came out in harsh breaths. “Sometimes you’re a fucking tease.”

“I learned from the best,” Geralt replied and, in the darkness, Vernon could swear that the witcher had a smug grin plastered on his pale face.

“Shut the fuck up and kiss me,” Vernon hissed and Geralt obliged him all too well. 

The next kiss was fiercer now and Vernon unwittingly let out a moan as he was pressed more forcefully into the bookshelf behind him. The pain of the wooden shelf digging into his back merely accentuated the burgeoning pleasure that began to unfurl in his being. 

Geralt’s hands landed on either side of him, taking his hands and thus taking away the control of their situation from him. Damn the man. This lack of control shouldn’t feel so good to him but it did and he was almost ashamed of it. After helplessly watching his mother earning her keep and then dying so quietly and without a proper funeral, Vernon vowed to never let anyone control his actions or his fate.

And he followed through it, having survived poverty with street smarts and enough talent to do the dirty work to attract King Foltest’s attention. Even with the King’s favor, he never stopped finding ways to control his fate, not even after four years of dedicated service to Temeria and its King.

Soon, the pain began to increase until it started to become highly unpleasant and began to take away the startling heat of their kisses. 

He sharply inhaled, ready to push Geralt off when the door suddenly opened, the cool draft sweeping into the room and snapping his addled senses together. 

“Roche…Duchess Anais…”

Vernon cursed at Ves’ untimely entrance and then his eyes suddenly widened at the sight of the person stepping into their room. 

Duchess Anais’ mouth was set in a wry grin and John Natalis had the chagrin to look mildly surprised at the two men’s position.

“Vernon Roche, I trust you have a few moments to spare?” If the Gods wanted to torture Vernon, this was one of the ways to do it. The presence of his superior and Duchess Anais quickly made his arousal fade back into nothing and Vernon was glad for the shadows that partially hid him and Geralt. 

Of course, Geralt looked as composed as ever and he slightly bowed his head to Anais, if only to show respect to the young girl. 

“Geralt,” another voice called out to them and everyone turned to regard the newest visitor. The ashen hair was a dead give away and Vernon espied Ciri’s slender form entering the guest suite. She looked so much taller than the last he’d seen her and much more regal looking. His informants had updated him of Emhyr’s abdication of the throne to Ciri but he had been skeptical of the information till he heard it straight from Anais.

“Oh!” The young future Empress genuinely looked upset at having barged into a possibly important meeting. “Shall I come back?”

Anais, no, Duchess Anais, shook her head and Ciri let out a sigh of relief. She approached Vernon and Geralt, giving the former a warm smile and the latter a hug before leaning against the table. 

“Geralt, there’s a reason why you’re here,” Anais said, cutting straight to the point. “We have a contract for you.”

“What is it and what’s the pay?” Geralt wasn’t interested in political talk and Vernon wanted to wallop the man across the head for his bluntness. The witcher was talking to royalty after all, even if it’s to an old Temeria.

“We will pay you well.” Anais’ eyes glanced over at Vernon quickly before shifting her gaze back to Geralt. “Five thousand orens.”

Geralt’s eyebrows rose up in genuine shock. Five thousand orens was a lot of money, especially after just being rewarded 10,000 orens for a rescue that occurred almost a year ago. This means that the witcher contract was going to be challenging indeed, maybe his last one.

“Dethmold is back,” Anais’ voice quivered a little bit, no doubt the young girl still had horrific memories of that man. John Natalis wrapped an around her, a comforting gesture that seemed to calm her small shivers.

_Do you know how much this was worth?!!_

“My informers reported sightings of him in Kaedwen. He’s been killing off Nilfgaardian garrisons as if they were nothing.” Vernon normally would not have cared for a bunch of sodden Nilfgaardians getting offed like flies. However, it was the way they died, all hanged up in their tents, where they should have been safe, that reminded Vernon of his old unit’s murders.

“Are you sure it was him? Dead people usually stay dead. Even with necromancy, the energies required are too much of a constraint on both user and target.”

Vernon was rather surprised at Geralt’s knowledge of necromancy. It was a field of magic forbidden by even the Conclave itself, at least before the terrible events of Loc Muinne. He’d no desire to seek out such dark magics himself, even when it would have been useful in his interrogations. No information was worth piercing the veil that separated the dead and the living. 

“I’m sure. And here’s why.” Anais gestured for John and the General of Temeria’s military forces took out a piece of parchment from a small satchel hanging off his sword buckle.  


> Vernon Roche,
> 
> You should have burned my body.  
>  One day, I will take back what’s mine and destroy what you hold dear.  
> 
> 
> Dethmold.

“Anyone could have written this,” Ciri said, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“No. No one knew that Geralt and I were in the Kaedweni Camp except for Anais. Besides, we killed all the men stationed there.”

“Maybe you missed some,” Ciri countered and, if it were anyone else, Vernon would have punched the poor sucker. Instead, he clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. 

“Let me see that,” Geralt demanded and John placed the note in the witcher’s hand.  
Vernon’s instincts screamed at him to not let Geralt hold such a simple piece of parchment but he was too slow to prevent what happened next. 

All he saw was Geralt sniffing the parchment as if smelling for a lover’s perfume and then the witcher locking up before shouting in agony and clutching at his head.

Ciri cried out Geralt’s name and Vernon reached out to him. Geralt pushed him back, the strength of it easily forcing his body to collide harshly against the table.

“What the fuck…what the fuck is going on?!” Vernon said as he stumbled to his feet. He already had his falchion out though he didn’t remember unsheathing it. Geralt would never harm him or even Anais for that matter. Not willingly at least.

“I don’t-I don’t know,” Ciri’s worried eyes took on Geralt’s shaking form and both watched helplessly as the witcher got on his hands and knees and began to heave. Sounds of blood spilling unto the floor made Vernon’s stomach feel uneasy and, gods, the smell of it was horrible. It smelled of death and Vernon had an idle thought that maybe Geralt himself was an embodiment of death.

“Geralt…” Vernon called out to him and he stepped a little closer to the witcher, trying to adopt a non-threatening posture, even with a falchion in his hand. 

The witcher had stopped vomiting blood and now was trying to stand up. He did and cat eyes glanced up at Vernon and Ciri. They were hazy and clouded over; not an ounce of recognition flickered in the bloody depths until they landed on him. 

A strangled whisper of a name, his name, escaped the witcher and the man attempted to walk. His form wavered as shaky legs tried to hold up all two hundred and fifty pounds of the witcher’s weight. 

Vernon quickly rushed towards the unsteady man, not minding at all at stepping in the pool of blood that spread out along the stone floor. _Geralt’s blood._ His sword fell out of his hands, leaving them free to catch his falling friend. 

Something snapped and it was as Geralt was turned over in his arms that Vernon realized his Temerian medallion had broken off, only to be clutched in a vice grip.

“Vernon…” Geralt struggled to say something else but it was lost as his eyes fell shut and his form slackened in the Temerian’s arms, leaving behind a stunned audience, who didn’t know what had just transpired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be updated on a weekly basis, most likely on a Saturday or Sunday. 
> 
> Happy reading! And Kudos is like love. The more kudos, the more love I feel. :D


	4. Who Are You?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt's sudden collapse prompts an emergency meeting of his inner circle.

“Damn it, fuck, damn it,” Vernon cursed underneath his breath and he paced across the room, stopping every so often to peek a glance at the supine form lying on the bed nearby.

“Vernon, would you please desist your pacing? It’s distracting and I need all the focus I can get to solve this little matter.” 

It was a new voice, lightly accented and cold. To any other person, the dark-haired sorceress showed apathy, as if her presence was only due to the request of her surrogate daughter. The tight crinkling around her eyes and her pale features, paler than usual anyhow, suggested to Vernon that she cared for Geralt as much as the rest of the witcher’s visitors, which grew almost exponentially over a day. 

Dandelion and Zoltan somehow made their way here to Vizima almost instantly, as if by magic, and both of them regarded Roche well, despite the circumstances.

Both Anais and Ciri were out there, in court, keeping appearances that everything was well with the nobles. Somehow Ciri had General Moorvis increase the personal guard around the room and what surprised Vernon, even more, was the General’s eagerness in following the ash-haired lady’s orders. 

That was something that he needed to talk with Geralt about if the witcher would wake. _When not if…_

“There!” 

Yennefer’s exclamation brought Vernon out of his musings and the Temerian strode to where Yennefer was standing. Columns of books covered the table, leaving a small space for Yennefer to work on.

In the middle of her workspace was an opened book, the pages heavy with foreign writing and pictures.

“What is that?” He pointed at a strange-looking diagram in the middle of the page and Yennefer’s smile told him before she did that it might help Geralt pull out of his spell-induced coma. 

“It’s in Elder speech and I’m not going to make you feel even more uneducated by boring you with the details.”

“I know enough about spells to see that everything needs ingredients and power.” Vernon growled and the sound only made Yennefer smirk in an ‘I’m an expert in this, not you.’ way  
It was something Vernon was displeased about – not having enough information to solve a problem. 

Vernon was about to say something else, a more biting comment on how it was a mage’s fault for Geralt’s current situation before Dandelion elbowed him in the flank, hard and unexpected. The look that Dandelion gave him could rival his own ‘Talk and I’ll kill you’ kind of expression. It was too bad that the bard couldn’t be more fully employed into the Temerian Intelligence Ops. Dandelion would have been his best spy. Of course, Geralt would kill Vernon first. The witcher was oddly protective of the bard.

“Ok, Yennefer,” Dandelion chipped in, his smooth voice a more welcoming balm than Vernon’s acerbic remarks. “What did you find? Is it a death curse like Sabrina’s?”

“Luckily, not to that extent,” Yennefer sighed in relief. Her eyes still moved from side to side as she studied the page. “Unfortunately, the ingredients to undo it are nigh impossible to retrieve.”

“What do you need?” Vernon was willing to do anything for Geralt, who was an ally, a close friend and perhaps something more.

Yennefer felt uncomfortable at how close the two men had become, more so than she was with Geralt hanging out with Dandelion in the early adventures, before the Wild Hunt. Roche was very skilled at withholding information, at abiding his time to make a decisive strike against his enemies. He would have made an excellent mage and a dangerous one too. 

“The blood of a higher vampire, the heart of love known but yet received and the castor’s blood.”  


“The first part is easy,” Dandelion said with a slight smile. “I’m quite sure Regis wouldn’t hesitate in offering his blood to help Geralt. The second and third part…”

The bard trailed off and his eyes avoided Yennefer for a minute. 

Everyone knew of Geralt’s and Yennefer’s torrid and toxic relationship in the earlier years. If one was honest about it, the relationship was a major source of Geralt’s suffering. 

It was also a common fact amongst all of Geralt’s friends that the relationship ended abruptly, with no chance of it being rekindled as it had before. However, only Dandelion and Ciri knew that it was Geralt, not Yennefer, who broke the romantic ties. A fact not told to Vernon, who was unsure of how to react to it. A hot spark of jealousy reared its ugly head in Vernon’s being but the last image of Geralt, of how the witcher spoke his name, not Dandelion’s, not even Yennefer’s or Ciri’s, soothed it over. 

“We don’t even know how to find Regis,” Yennefer countered, clearly not wanting to explore the latter part of the ingredient. “And from what Ciri told me, he’s not been seen for months after the incident in Toussaint.”

“And the second part?” Zoltan sighed heavily, his muscled arms crossing in front of him. “According to Dandelion, he no longer has an interest in romantic dalliances, which amazes me, considering his need to plough every woman that he sees.”

“It’s love, Zoltan,” Dandelion moaned in frustration, “not sex that the spell needs.”

“Oh…And I suppose you’re an expert in that department?” Zoltan grumbled and Yennefer slammed her hand down on the desk. The two friends glowered at each other but thankfully stopped bickering. 

“Be that as it may be, it is most definitely not my blood that will help Geralt out of this one,” Yennefer’s cold voice cut through the tension between Zoltan and Dandelion.

“Vernon,”

This time, her purple eyes stared straight at him, piercing right through his own, as if the sorceress could glean his thoughts as easily as if he was saying them out loud. 

“You and Geralt are rather close. Did he confide in you of any ladies that he might be involved with?”

“No,” Vernon said quickly, prompting Yennefer to look at him rather angrily as if disbelieving his statement. “He is rather private on his thoughts in that regard and I’ve no wish to pry any further into his business.”

“Then what were you and Geralt doing in this room? I don’t suppose it’s just a simple catching up.”

This time, all eyes centered on him and Vernon felt cornered, a feeling he truly despises. Dandelion laid a hand on Yennefer and her accusatory stare softened just a bit, to the point where she looked away before saying in an uncharacteristic gentle manner, “It’s important, Vernon. This is Geralt’s life we’re talking about.”

Vernon swallowed a bit at Yennefer’s request. She was right. His pride or rather a desire to keep things private between him and Geralt was getting in the way of saving the witcher’s life.  
“I may have expressed my thoughts on the matter of us.”

“Us? Like you and Geralt…. ohh….” Dandelion’s grin suddenly widened, as if the bard found fresh inspiration for his songs. Oh no. This…. this was what Vernon was worried. The tales of the Witcher and the Temerian Commander. That will give his enemies plenty of blackmail fodder to exploit. 

Yennefer, for her part, did not look amused. The beautiful lips tightened into a thin line and her nose flared just a tiny bit, almost imperceptible to Vernon’s astute observational skills.  
“And just what were your thoughts in this regard?” 

Her question was asked briskly, the way a healer was asking for symptoms and their manifestations. It was no wonder that Geralt had decided to end this relationship. Vernon could only imagine the verbal insults thrown by the talented sorceress.

“Yennefer,” Dandelion interrupted, “his mannerism alone should answer that for you. You know how well both of them guard their feelings.”

The bard’s smooth statement saved Vernon from verbally confirming that he and Geralt had indeed started something in the realm of feelings and whatnot. The Temerian wasn’t too keen on spilling his guts, romantic feelings or otherwise, to Geralt’s inner circle. 

While Geralt knew them for a long time, Roche had only known the witcher’s friends for a year or so, ever since the whole mess with the regicides had begun. Thus, he was still at the “acquaintance stage” with the majority of them. The battle at Kaer Morhen certainly put him in their good graces but that was the penultimate apex of their interactions.

Before Yennefer could further pry into Vernon’s private life, a soft groan emanated from the patient in question. Tension, as taut as a butcher’s knife, seemed to snap and then dissipate into relief when Geralt’s eyes fluttered open. 

“Geralt?” Yennefer knelt at the patient’s side and she was not prepared for the way those cat eyes stared at her, hard and unrecognizing.

“Where…where am I?” Geralt attempted to rise out of bed but Yennefer placed a hand on his chest in an attempt to push him down. “Where’s Vernon?”

The witcher’s question elicited a disappointed huff from Yennefer; romantic feelings still echoed in the sorceress’ heart, even if the witcher no longer harbored such ones for her. 

“I’m here, Geralt,” Vernon stepped closer, slightly bending down to allow his impressive height to be at the witcher’s eye-level. A hand reached out to him and cupped his cheek, the thumb caressing his cheekbone lovingly. 

“Vernon…” the witcher whispered and, before anyone could protest, drew Vernon’s face closer, only to press their lips together in a heated kiss. 

The move caused everyone to blush to various degrees. Yennefer was the most reddened and she quickly stood up, her purple eyes wet with emotion. Dandelion merely snickered while Zoltan gaped at the pair, his mouth agape like a fish when it would be on land and trying to breathe. 

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Geralt’s voice was uncharacteristically gentle, so much so it threw Vernon off for a loop. This couldn’t be Geralt. It had to be the spell. Yes, feelings were out there but not to this extent.

“What happened? Who are your friends?”

And, of course, Geralt just had to become amnesic, again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So…how long does Geralt have?” Dandelion asked, watching Vernon pull a blanket over Geralt’s chest, the man’s eyes lingering a little too long on the sleeping witcher’s face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little short but hopefully still good chapter till I get my Witcher Muse again. 
> 
> With the virus going around, please stay safe!

#### Royal Palace at Vizima 

“I don’t understand,” Geralt said as the handsome man explained to him who these people were. The dark-haired sorceress with alabaster skin gave him such a look that threatened to set fire to his pants. According to Vernon, she could do it just as easily amongst other things as well. 

The brunette man’s accent, cultured and educated, told Geralt that the man, Dandelion, was a bard of some sort. The presence of the bard’s lute gave credence to Vernon’s introductions and the witcher had a hunch that the ‘bard’ profession was just a cover-up for something else. 

“I don’t understand either,” this bard said also, his hands landing on his hips. “How is it that Geralt remembers Vernon but not us? Vernon’s only known Geralt for maybe just a little over two years. We’ve known Geralt for at least a decade, if not more than that.”

The sorceress’ eyes glanced at Geralt’s before turning away to look at the open book on the wooden table. The warm yellow light flickered gently in the spacious room he was in, weaving shadows that jumped erratically over the occupants of the suite. 

“Geralt, what’s the last thing you remember?” Dandelion asked of him. 

“Well, I defeated Eredin, though it was a tough fight.” Geralt’s eyes shuttered closed and he rubbed his temple with a hand as if remembering was a painful pastime to him. 

“Curious,” Yennefer noted, still having her back turned to the confused witcher and company.

Violet eyes perused the page again as if seeking something that perhaps was absent in the first review. “There’s a possibility of a love curse that renders the victim incapable of remembering the people involved in important events, but not the events themselves.”

“Ok, care to repeat that in simple terms, lassie?” Zoltan grumbled and the dwarf shook his head ruefully as Yennefer explained again, in much simpler terms. 

“In other words, he knows of what happened, but not who happened. In this case,” Yennefer pointed to Vernon, “Geralt knows of The Wild Hunt but he can’t remember us specifically. It’s like knowing the whole of a story but not the details of it.”

“So,” Dandelion continued her explanation in response to the blank stares around the room. “our names are like ‘blanks’ to him but he remembers other things.”

“So why does he remember me, then?” Vernon asked. “Shouldn’t my name be a blank to him too, just like the rest of you?”

“That’s what I find curious,” Yennefer explained. “You should have been forgotten too. 

Perhaps uttering your name before Geralt fell unconscious gave him an anchor to you. And I don’t think that’s what the original caster intended. He or maybe she did not know of the true feelings between you two.”

Of the two men, only Vernon looked slightly embarrassed. His cheeks took on a slight blush, which only rendered the Temerian more handsome in the witcher’s eyes. The way those amber eyes raked over the man’s form merely deepened the blush until Yennefer released an awkward cough. 

“Luckily, this love curse is not so rare as the others are. Many a jealous rival would often use this out of petty revenge. Unfortunately, it also always ends in the victim’s death.”

“Damn, that’s…not good. So how long do I have?” It was Geralt who asked the question and the witcher slowly got up, unheeding of everyone’s warnings until he found himself staggering forward a little bit. 

“Easy, Geralt,” Vernon steadied Geralt, the man’s broad hand clasping firmly on the padded shoulder. “You just threw up a lot of blood. I don’t think you’re ready to be going anywhere anytime soon.”

Geralt opened his mouth to protest but Vernon shook his head at him and the witcher allowed the man to help him back into the bed. He was glad that he did; as soon as his head hit the pillow, exhaustion set in and he couldn’t fight against the sleep that overtook him.   
Seeing at how easily Vernon handled the witcher discomforted Yennefer greatly but the dark-haired sorceress would respect Geralt and his decisions, unlike a certain red-head, who still regretted her actions even to this day despite the witcher’s forgiveness. 

“So…how long does Geralt have?” Dandelion asked, watching Vernon pull a blanket over Geralt’s chest, the man’s eyes lingering a little too long on the sleeping witcher’s face. When this was all over, the bard will have to ask Vernon a few questions. For research purposes of course, for his songs. That’s if the Temerian would agree to the interview in the first place.   
“It depends on the victim’s constitution,” Yennefer explained. “I haven’t heard of anything being used on a witcher so I can’t truly tell you.”

“Well, what about on a human or non-human?”

“He has three days,”

“Then we’d better find this culprit and deal with him,” Vernon said in a dark tone.

“Vernon, you can take Geralt to find whatever clues you can find about getting to Regis. Higher vampires do not like species that are not of their kind. So, take great care if you find others on the way. I will use whatever I can find from that letter to track down the caster.   
Dandelion, Zoltan, see if you can go out there and listen to any gossip or rumors. The second part…well, we’ll get to that part once we have the others completed. Let’s get to it, no time to waste. We only have 18 hours left and you better hope that it’s not Dethmold who’s responsible for this.”

Yennefer was quick to take charge of the situation but none of the men had the heart to go against her plan or rather they didn’t have good alternatives to offer to Yennefer. 

-o0o-

#### The border town of Lyria and Angren 

A shadow flitted through the pale moonlight and hovered over a small branch before stilling. Other shadows followed in suit and a gentle call of the raven echoed in the early morning hours of the next day.

A soft call answered and then a much larger shadow reappeared right next to the small ones.

“Ah, a message from Geralt you say?” The cultured tone pulled a gentle chirp from one of the ravens nearby. 

Another form leaned against the tree, this one much taller and bulkier than the recipient. 

“What does your friend tell you?” The other form’s voice was deeper, its baritone tones never failing to elicit a tremor from the other partner.

“Hmm. It seems he and Ciri have gone to Vizima. Perhaps to visit old friends there, like Vernon.”

“More humans,” the other form hissed the word as if it was anathema, a curse. “Regis, he’ll be fine. He doesn’t need us spying on him every day.”

Regis sighed at his friend’s dismissive tone. The whole Syanna fiasco resulted in a death and his closest friend’s unwarranted imprisonment. If it hadn’t been for Dandelion’s impeccable arrival and persuasive ways with the Duchess, Regis would have found a way to rescue Geralt, whether the witcher wanted to be rescued or not. 

Detlaffe wanted nothing to do with the humans and desired to be far away from any settlements. Regis accompanied the older vampire, by a century or so, but he always wanted to keep an eye on his friend, who did so much for him and Detlaffe. 

“True, Detlaffe. He’s a witcher and can handle himself,” Regis stopped for a moment. While Detlaffe spoke truly about how Geralt survived harsh trials through his life, something nagged at the back of Regis’ mind. He couldn’t explain it. Just a feeling that Geralt was going to be entangled in something dangerous again. 

“Dear ones,” Regis addressed the ravens that awaited his next command patiently in the oak tree. “Keep an eye on Geralt and update me regularly, no matter what I’m doing.”

The birds’ eyes gleamed eerily as the moonlight shone on the vampires and birds. A confirming chirp and then the birds swiftly took off into the air, flying in a northerly direction, towards Vizima.

“No matter what you’re doing? Does that include our sessions? I’m rather jealous of Geralt. He has your attention, even from far away.” 

Regis was rather surprised at the verboseness of Detlaffe, who normally would be inclined to speak only a few sentences a day. The vampire’s face was pulled into a dark scowl and Regis’ heart thrummed at seeing the sad expression in those beautiful blue eyes. 

“Jealousy does not suit you, dear Detlaffe. Rest assured, only one holds my heart and he’s too busy scowling instead of showing me what he’s learned from his younger years.” 

That slight insult prompted a growl from the older vampire and Regis found himself in a flipped position, his back pushing against the tree trunk with Detlaffe’s hands pinning his own to the sides.

“I’ll show you a lot more than that,” Detlaffe growled, his canine teeth elongating in the vampire’s growing arousal. Regis answered in kind and, as if nature wanted to give them a sense of privacy, dark clouds rolled in, covering the pale moon and washing the land in a soft blanket of darkness.


End file.
